


Together

by BubbleGumLizard



Series: Mystrade NaNoWriMo 2015 [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bickering, Body Shots, Drunken Confessions, Las Vegas, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-01 17:23:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5214362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BubbleGumLizard/pseuds/BubbleGumLizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes wakes up after a crazy night in Las Vegas with a naked Greg Lestrade in his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mycroft groaned and rolled over.  He couldn’t remember going to sleep: his night must have been much more exciting than his nights normally were.  When he opened his eyes, it took him a moment to realize that he was looking at the bare back of a man.  It occurred to him that he appeared to be wearing nothing but his pants.  Afraid to move, he tried to recognize the back.  Of course he rarely saw his acquaintances’ bare backs and the man’s head was tucked forward.

Mycroft realized that it had been his phone that woke him up and that he had picked it up before rolling over.  He brought it up to his eye level and turned it on, looking through his text messages.  There were several from Sherlock demanding to know where he had gone.  Then he came to one that made his stomach drop.

**Where did you go with Lestrade?  I know you have a crush on him, but leave him alone.  SH**

Not thinking, Mycroft sat up suddenly.  The movement made his head spin and pound.  He clutched it, moaning.

“Stop making that bloody noise,” Greg grumbled, rolling over.  He froze when he realized he wasn’t alone, squinting at Mycroft as if he couldn’t make out who it was.  “Mycroft?  What’s going on?  Where are my clothes?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Mycroft said quietly.  “I appear to be wearing only pants.”

Greg looked under the blanket and groaned, dropping his head back onto the pillow.  “At least you have those on.”

“What did we do last night?” Mycroft asked, starting to feel panicky.  He didn’t feel sore, so he was fairly certain they hadn’t had sex, but as he wasn’t sure of Greg’s preferences, a lack of soreness for Mycroft wasn’t exactly proof.  Considering that they had just woken up naked in a bed together, he decided that being direct was a good course of action.  “Are you sore?” he asked.

Greg blushed.  “No, I don’t think we had sex.  I would like to think that we might remember something like that.”

“Generally I do like to remember how I end up in bed with an attractive, naked man.”

“You think I’m attractive?” Greg asked and it was time for Mycroft to blush.

“Must have been a slip of the tongue,” he said with a slight smile.  “My head is pounding.”

“Of course.  Whose room is this?  It’s a lot nicer than the one I booked.”

Mycroft just then thought to look around the room they were in.  It was the suite he had booked at the hotel, which was one of the best in Las Vegas, where Greg and Sherlock had accompanied Mycroft.  “It’s my room.  You could have stayed here, I would have paid for it.”

“It looks like I did stay here,” Greg said with a cheeky grin.

Mycroft groaned.  “What did we do last night?  The last thing I remember was a lot of wine.”

“Ah yes, I remember the wine.  I think after that there was some tequila.”

“Tequila?” Mycroft asked, sounding horrified.  “I do not drink tequila.”

“We were doing something called body shots, I think,” Greg said, sitting up and looking through the open door to the other room of the suite, where there was a table.  “You pour the shot of liquor on someone’s body and then...lick it off.”  He seemed incredibly amused by the expression on Mycroft’s face.

Mycroft reached down and touched his stomach, which was slightly sticky.  “Why would we do that?”

“I think we were celebrating something,” Greg said running his hand through his hair.

That’s when Mycroft saw it.

“Greg?” he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.  “When did you start wearing a wedding ring again?”

Greg looked at his hand.  “This isn’t my wedding ring,” he said.

Mycroft looked at his own hand, at the matching gold ring on it.  He held it out to Greg, starting to panic again.  “What did we bloody do last night?” he asked.

All of the color drained from Greg’s face.  “I remember saying that I like you.”

“Do you?”  Greg blushed, which was enough of an answer for Mycroft, even with his brain addled from a hangover.

“And then you said that you like me,” Greg continued, closing his eyes and trying to remember.  “And then I think I suggested that we… Oh no!” his eyes snapped open and he jumped out of the bed, barely remembering to wrap the sheet around his waist before he ran into the other room.

Mycroft reached for his dressing gown, which was on the floor next to the bed.  He wrapped himself in it and followed to see Greg staring at a piece of paper.  “What is that?” he asked curiously.

Greg held it out a shaking hand.  Mycroft took it, feeling faint when he read what was printed at the top.

**State of Nevada Marriage License**

On the paper, along with signatures by witnesses from “The Little White Wedding Chapel”, were their names and signatures.

“What?” Mycroft asked, reading the paper over again.  “Why did we think this was a good idea?”

“I think it was the wine,” Greg said weakly, sinking down into a chair.  “I feel dizzy.”

“Well, there isn’t anything we can do about this right now.  Let’s order some breakfast, get our heads feeling better, and then we can discuss our options,” Mycroft said, his reasonable side taking over.

There was a knock on the door.  Mycroft opened it and a young man rolled in a cart laden with food and freshly laundered clothing.  “Well, if nothing at least we’re considerate to our future selves when drunk,” Mycroft commented.  He caught the man who brought the food staring at Greg where the sheet he was holding around himself had slipped down to show a good portion of his muscular backside as he stood and looked hungrily at the food.  

“Pardon me,” Mycroft said sharply to the man.  “He’s married.”

Greg looked up as the bellhop blushed and hurriedly left the room.  “What was that?” Greg asked.

“He was staring at you,” Mycroft said with a smile.  “I thought it would be fun to say.  Did you see his face?”

Greg chuckled and pulled the cart over to the table, sitting down.  “What would you like?  We appear to have ordered the entire menu.”

Mycroft looked the food over and settled on some toast.  “I always hate traveling.  I’d much rather be at home.”

“Mm, me too,” Greg said, tucking into a big plate of food.

“So, we’re married,” Mycroft said, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“Yeah.”  Greg nodded.  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say in this situation.”

“Well, I’m hardly an expert.”  He poured Greg a cup as well, setting it in front of him.  “Though I should be able to make this all go away.”

“I wish I could remember why we thought it was a good idea.”

“I’m starting to remember.  We admitted that we were attracted to each other and then we discussed how lonely single life is.”  Mycroft sighed.  He remembered feeling very sad and then Greg announced that they should get married and the mood had changed dramatically.

“Maybe there’s something to it,” Greg told him.

“What?”

“I’m not sure you were accurate in what you just said.  We didn’t admit attraction, we admitted that we like each other.  That we have feelings for each other.  Romantic feelings.”

Mycroft blushed.  “An appropriate reaction to that would be going out on a date, not getting married and then doing...what were they called?”

“Body shots.  So one person lays down with tequila in his navel with a line of salt on his chest and a lime in his mouth,” Greg explained.  “The second person drinks the tequila, licks up the salt, and then bites the lime.”

Mycroft stared at him.  “I don’t remember that.  Why do I not remember that?”

“You sound disappointed,” Greg commented, sounding as casual as possible.

Mycroft smiled.  “I would like to remember the first time I lick my husband.”

“Well, we can pretend that never happened and act like next time you lick me is the first time.”

“‘Next time’?  Are you planning a next time?”

“Mycroft, I would like to date you,” Greg said.  “I have wanted you since the moment I saw you and now that I know you better, I want to know more about you and spend as much time with you as possible.”

“I would also like to spend time with you.  Did we--did we kiss at all last night?”

Greg grinned.  “We must have.  I don’t remember.”

“Well, perhaps it would improve our memories if we did.”

Greg stood, walked around the table, and pulled Mycroft up into a kiss.  He wrapped his arm that wasn’t holding his sheet up around Mycroft’s middle.  Mycroft caressed Greg’s face with one hand as he kissed back passionately, leaning into Greg and moaning quietly.

Just then, the door burst open.  “What are you doing?” Sherlock asked, staring at them.

They pulled apart and looked at Sherlock.  Mycroft thought the he would happily kill his brother at that moment.  “Yes, brother?” he asked.

“I have been texting both of you.  Where have you been?”  He looked them over.  “You married Lestrade, Mycroft?  Really?”

“He figured it out faster than you did,” Greg noted.

“Not exactly endearing yourself to me,” Mycroft said, frowning.

“Do I need to endear myself to you?  We’re already married.  Aren’t I supposed to let go now and be my own horrible self?”

“Did the two of you forget that our plane leaves in less than two hours?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft sighed.  He always hated flying on commercial airlines, but he hadn’t wanted to explain the private jet to Greg.  “We should probably leave.  We can discuss this on the plane or when we are back home.”

They spent the plane ride ignoring Sherlock and talking about a variety of subjects.  They both dozed for a bit and eventually they ended up discussing what they were going to do about the marriage.

“It is rather strange to be married that I man I do not know very well,” Mycroft said, noticing that they were sitting very close together.

“Why don’t we just go along with it?” Greg suggested suddenly.

“What exactly are you proposing?  Moving in together?  Living as husbands?”

“Why not?  We thought it was a good idea last night.”

“When we were drunk.”

Greg smiled.  “It certainly isn’t the worst idea I’ve had when I was drunk.”

Mycroft hesitated and then leaned forward and kissed him gently.  “We can try it for a while.  It seems like a crazy idea, but there has been very little spontaneity in my life.”

Greg made a happy sound and settled down with his head on Mycroft’s shoulder.  “This will be fun.”

“It will certainly be an adventure.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Here's chapter two, chapter three should be up in a bit.
> 
> I have a quick story: This fic has been written almost exclusively at NaNoWriMo Write-Ins (where you go somewhere in public and pretend to write while actually acting like children -- that may just be what my group does) and was the result of a prompt when I didn't know what to write. Tonight at a write-in, while I was working on chapter three of this, a friend decided to write fan fiction of my fan fiction. The result is awesome and everyone should read it. http://archiveofourown.org/works/5228561/chapters/12057317
> 
> Enjoy!

“I’m always exhausted after traveling long distances,” Greg said sleepily in the cab.

“Do you want to come back to my house? It’s an old family house. There are plenty of spare rooms,” Mycroft said. He felt a little awkward. They had discussed living like they were really married when they made it back to London, which Mycroft assumed meant they would be living in Mycroft’s large house, but they hadn’t discussed the situation in the much detail.

Greg looked like he hadn’t realized how odd the situation would be. “That sounds nice. Though I’m not sure about the spare bedroom part. We’ve already shared a bed, right?”

Mycroft smiled. He liked the idea of Greg sleeping in his bed with him, cuddling and being there in the morning when he woke up. “I have some work that I need to do when we arrive, but I will do that at home, after you get settled.”

“I still have the lease on my flat for another four months. I can see if I can find someone to take it from me, but if I can’t, I will still be paying for it.”

“Like I said, old family home. You won’t need to pay any sort of rent there. Also, it might be nice for you to have somewhere to go if you need it…” he let himself trail off, not wanting to finish the thought.

“I have a good feeling about this,” Greg told him comfortingly. He reached out and squeezed Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation of having someone comforting him, a sensation that wasn’t one that he was used to experiencing.

The cab stopped and Mycroft stepped out of it, looking up at the house. Greg, who had followed him out of the cab, was staring up at the house, amazed. Mycroft considered the house, imagining that he had never seen it before. He supposed that it was rather imposing, an old, large house that had been updated. When they went inside, Greg was still staring at everything like it was the strangest house he’d ever seen.

“You live here?” he choked out finally, looking at the bedroom, which, Mycroft admitted to himself, did look like it was straight out of a Victorian romance. 

“It does rather suit me,” Mycroft said with a small smile. He was under no illusions about how people saw him. He enjoyed playing up the image and his house fit with his aesthetic.

Greg grinned. “That is true. This is the most Mycroft Holmes bedroom I’ve ever seen.” He looked at the bed and then back at Mycroft. “Did you say something about getting me settled? What exactly did you have in mind?” he asked.

“Well, you expressed an interest in bed and getting out of your traveling clothes,” Mycroft told him, taking his jacked off and tossing it onto a chair.

Greg smiled and unbuttoned his own shirt. “Anywhere in particular?” he asked, holding the shirt up.

Mycroft wasn’t paying attention to the question, instead staring at Greg’s bare chest. He had vague impressions of running his tongue up that chest to taste some salt, before biting a lime. “Hm?” he asked when he realized that Greg was speaking to him.

“Thinking about something?” Greg asked cheekily. He stepped close to Mycroft and began working at Mycroft’s buttons. “My memories are hazy too. I suppose that we will just have to make more memories.”

Mycroft smiled and pulled Greg into a hungry kiss. “I couldn’t wait for that plane ride to be over,” he growled, reaching for Greg’s trousers.

Greg chuckled. “You’ve been planning this, have you?”

“Well, we never consummated our marriage.”

Mycroft watched with rapt attention as Greg finished stripping naked, his mouth watering. He pushed Greg into a sitting position on the bed and licked a line up the underside of Greg’s cock, making Greg moan. With a smile at the response, Mycroft went to work with his mouth.

After they were both satisfied, Mycroft lay curled in Greg’s arms, listening to Greg’s heartbeat. “I like this,” he said happily. He had been in very few relationships where cuddling was something that happened, so the thought of being involved with someone who liked to cuddle was very pleasing to him.

“Mm,” Greg agreed. He sounded like he was nearly asleep already.

“I like you,” Mycroft whispered, looking up at Greg’s peaceful face. There was no reply, so Mycroft pressed a kiss to Greg’s chest and slid out of his grasp so he could dress himself and go into his study to work.

A few hours later, he was still working on the problem he needed to solve and was no closer to finishing it, when Greg wandered into the room, wrapped in a blanket and looking adorably sleepy. “I woke up and you were gone,” Greg said, sitting down in a chair across the desk from Mycroft.

“This is taking longer than I anticipated,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “I had hoped to be done by the time you awoke. I apologize.”

“Don’t. Work is important. I am regularly called into work at odd hours. And it gives us something to talk about.” He looked around Mycroft’s study. “Do you want me to leave so you can finish?”

Mycroft shook his head. “A break is welcome. We can talk for a few minutes.”

“I’m not quite sure what to talk about.”

After thinking for a couple minutes and drawing a blank, something he was sure had never before happened to him, Mycroft just smiled and shrugged. “I suppose we will think of some topics of conversation eventually.” He returned to his computer, typing out an email to his assistant.

Several long minutes later, Greg looked at him thoughtfully. “So what is it that you actually do? Is Sherlock telling the truth about your position?”

“What he claims is more or less accurate.”

“So you control the government?”

“I am the government.” Mycroft said, looking up from his computer.

“That’s mad,” Greg said. He seemed to accept it, though, so Mycroft didn’t press the issue. He knew that most people would not believe his position when they were told what it was, which is precisely why he had never done anything to stop Sherlock from telling everyone the truth.

“What are you going to tell your colleagues?” Mycroft asked. It occurred to him that Greg worked with other people who might question the ring on his finger.

Greg shrugged. “The truth, I suppose. That I got drunk in Las Vegas and married a man I’ve wanted to date for ages.”

“Ages? Really?” Mycroft was flattered at the thought of Greg wanting him like that. He had never felt particularly attractive, so it always came as a shock when people were interested in him.

“Since I first met you.”

“You were married when we met.”

Greg flushed red. “My interest in a certain minor government official might have played a small part in my divorce. Not as small as her affairs, mind you, but it was mentioned.”

Mycroft smiled, though he supposed he should be less happy about playing any part in Greg’s divorce. “I had no idea. Of course, I have also been harboring an interest in you.”

“Why didn’t we get together before?” Greg asked with a very endearing smile. “We’re fools.”

“Well, at least we had the right idea when we were drunk.”

“You don’t think we considered that, do you? That if we just woke up together we wouldn’t get the hint, so we decided to get married so that we would have to face our feelings?” Greg seemed very amused at the thought.

“That sounds like something I would do,” Mycroft said, thinking about the possibility that he had manipulated himself.

“It really does. That must be what happened. We’re a crafty pair.”

Mycroft laughed with Greg. He was enjoying this easy conversation while he did a little work. He felt comfortable with Greg in a way that he had never felt comfortable with anyone. He didn’t feel a need to keep up the emotionless barriers that normally shielded him from the world. Instead, he wanted to tell Greg all of his thoughts and wants. It was strange to not hide himself away, but it felt right. 

“We discussed moving in together. I suppose we should have been more clear, I assumed you would be moving in here. If that is unacceptable, we can discuss other options,” Mycroft said, wanting to be willing to compromise.

“Of course I’ll move in here. This house is amazing. My flat is nothing compared to this. I was thinking that I can go over there in a bit and get what I need until I get the whole place packed up and moved. If that’s okay with you,” he added, looking worried that he would offend Mycroft.

Mycroft smiled. “That sounds perfect. If you require any assistance, I…I’m sure my assistant would be more than happy to help.”

Greg laughed and Mycroft was very pleased that he was able to make Greg laugh like that. “You really aren’t the ‘help a bloke move’ type, are you?”

“I employ people to do that for me. I would be more than happy to pay for movers. It surely can’t be that expensive.”

Greg hid it well, but he was embarrassed. Mycroft had worried that the difference in their financial situations might cause some problems, but he had hoped to avoid that for as long as possible. Leave it to Mycroft to highlight the differences between them immediately.  
“

I don’t mind doing it,” Greg said. “I have some mates who owe me favors, it won’t take long.”

“Well, the offer stands.”

Greg nodded, but his demeanor had changed slightly. “Well, I should get over there and pack some things. Then I’ll need to sleep some more. Work in the morning.”

Mycroft nodded and smiled, but his mind was already back on work and he didn’t notice when Greg left.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Mycroft awakened naturally at his normal hour. Being careful not to disturb Greg, who was sleeping peacefully, he showered and dressed, doing some work in his study before breakfast. At a reasonable time, he went down to the kitchen to make a light breakfast for the two of them. As he was putting everything on a tray, Greg came rushing into the room. “Morning,” Greg said, pulling his shoes on as he walked. “I was meant to be in the office by now. Lots of paperwork.”

“I made breakfast,” Mycroft said weakly, a little disappointed that he hadn’t been able to surprise Greg. 

“Thanks, love, but I really must get going.” Greg paused in his rush to kiss Mycroft on the cheek.

“At least take some toast with you.”

“Okay.” Greg grabbed a slice of toast, kissed Mycroft on the cheek again and smiled at him as he ran out the door.

Mycroft looked at his failed attempt at their first real breakfast together and sighed. He knew that they both had careers that made them busy, but he thought that they might have the first morning together. Oh well, he told himself as he sat down to eat, there’s no reason to fall to pieces because one breakfast was ruined. He was sure that many meals would be ruined because of work for both of them. There really was no reason to be upset. No reason at all. He put his face in his hands. Trying too hard.  Like usual. Why did he think he could be someone’s husband?

He finished eating, cleaned everything up, and headed to his own office. He had more important things to worry about. 

Like Sherlock, who was waiting for Mycroft in his office.

“How did you get in here?” Mycroft asked, sounding as disinterested as possible.

“Your assistant let me in. Alice?”

“Something of that nature,” Mycroft sneered, sitting at his computer and starting to work.

“So are you and Lestrade divorcing? Another failed relationship?”

Ah, a complication Mycroft had failed to consider -- he hated when he did that, especially when it was Sherlock-related. “He is moving in with me,” Mycroft said.

“That is never going to work.”

“Is there a point to this visit or are you just here to be rude to me?”

“Oh, there’s a point. Lestrade is at a crime scene.”

“Riveting story, brother.”

“When I left, the murderer was in the crowd that was watching.”

“Were you kind enough to point him out to Greg?”

“No. I thought that your security people would catch him when he tries to murder Lestrade.”

Mycroft’s eyes snapped up to Sherlock’s. “Why would he do that?”

“Oh, it’s Vladimir Fyodorov. You remember him, don’t you? I believe that it was his father you had assassinated?”

Mycroft jumped out of his chair and strode from the room, shouting into his phone. Of course his enemies would know he was married before he had time to even inform his staff.

“You did increase Lestrade’s security, didn’t you?” Sherlock asked, jumping into Mycroft’s car after him.

“It wasn’t a priority,” Mycroft snapped, tapping his phone anxiously. “Drive faster!” he shouted at the driver.

Sherlock looked worried now. “Please tell me that you did not just get Lestrade killed.”

“’I did not get him killed’? Brother, if you had any amount of decency, you would have told him about the situation immediately! Instead, you decided to torture me.”

The car stopped and Mycroft stepped out of it, making sure that he appeared as unruffled as possible. There was a large group of people standing around crime scene tape. He pushed his way through them, keeping an eye out for the man who had sworn vengeance on Mycroft. When he reached the front of the crowd, he saw Greg leaning against the back of an ambulance, talking to a paramedic. Fyodorov was screaming in Russian in the back of a police car. 

Sherlock lifted the crime scene tape and walked past the officer who was guarding it, ignoring Mycroft. Mycroft knew that he could easily go under the tape himself, but he didn’t want to call attention to himself. He sent a quick text to Greg, who looked at his phone and then back up at Mycroft, who nodded at him.

Greg hurried over and lifted the tape up for Mycroft. “You could have told them who you were,” he said quietly to Mycroft.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d told them and I didn’t want to cause a fuss,” Mycroft murmured, aware that people were listening to their conversation. “Are you well? What happened?”

“Nutter tried to stab me, yelling something in Russian.”

“Ah. That would be my fault. He never should have made it so close to you. An old enemy of mine,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “I haven’t yet set a security protocol for you.”

“Security protocol? You’re not putting security on me,” Greg said with a frown.”

“This incident will only be repeated. A security detail will stop that from happening.”

“We can talk about this later, at home,” Greg said.

“At home?” Sherlock said loudly. “So you two have moved in together? Congratulations! Must be off now. Many criminals to catch.”

“I will make you pay for that,” Mycroft told him with a friendly smile.

“Oh, Mycroft. Seeing you is payment enough.” Sherlock strolled off, ignoring the people who were staring at him, like usual.

“You moved, boss?” a woman asked casually as she walked up. Mycroft knew that she was Sally Donovan, whom Sherlock hated. That was enough for him to like her.

“Yes, Donovan. I moved in with my husband,” Greg said, looking at her.

“I was unaware that you were married,” she said, looking Mycroft up and down.

“Yes. Two days, almost,” Greg said with a grin at Mycroft. “Sally Donovan, Mycroft Holmes,” he introduced him.

“Holmes?” she asked, looking at Mycroft in surprise.

“Sherlock’s older, much nicer brother,” Mycroft said, shaking her hand.

“Hardly,” Greg said. “You’re just better at hiding it. Now, are we done here?”

“Here, perhaps. We will finish this at home.” Mycroft paused before leaving, putting his hand on Greg’s upper arm, which was as public as he got with his affection. “I am relieved that you are well. When I became aware of the situation, I was concerned.”

Greg smiled. “I would kiss you, but that would probably shock my team and they’ve already had a rough day. I will be home around seven tonight. Will you be there?”

“I should. I have some work to do after dinner, but I would like to eat with you. This is for you,” Mycroft said, holding out a key.

“Thank you,” Greg said, blushing slightly as he took the key. He glanced around before leaning forward and and giving Mycroft a quick peck on the lips. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” he muttered before turning and walking away, shouting at his team.

Mycroft smiled inwardly and returned to his car. Sherlock was inside, waiting for him. “That was disgusting,” he said.

“Why don’t you go home and bother John?” Mycroft asked, looking at his emails on his phone. He hadn’t done nearly enough work since he had been back from America. 

“He’s working. It’s boring without him. I’ve decided to bother you instead.”

“Wonderful.”

“Isn’t it? I’m glad Lestrade wasn’t murdered today. I would have fewer cases if he died.”

“If I pay you, will you leave me alone?”

“Aren’t you usually trying to get me to call you and let you know that I’m still alive? Have you lost interest in me now that you’re married?”

Mycroft ignored him as the car rolled to a stop and he got out of it, walking as quickly as possible into his office building. Unfortunately, Sherlock followed him. “Why don’t you go set fire to something? You always enjoyed doing that as a child,” Mycroft suggested.

“It’s less fun when they try to charge you with a crime.”

“But surely not getting caught is part of the challenge.” He returned to his work and ignored Sherlock for the next two hours, until he finally left.

That night, Mycroft returned home around six, heading to his study and working from home. When he was in the middle of work, he tended to lose track of time, so the next time he looked at the clock, it was nearly midnight. He looked at his phone and found that he had a text from Greg.

**Running late. Be home when I can. Greg**

Mycroft sighed and prepared himself for bed. There was no sense in waiting any longer. He finally realized that he hadn’t eaten anything since midday, but he had no inclination to find himself some food. Instead, he took some papers to bed to look over to prepare for the next day.

The door opened after a while and Greg walked in slowly, looking completely exhausted. “What a bloody day!” he exclaimed.

“It was bad?” Mycroft asked, his annoyance dissipating upon seeing Greg’s state. He knew the answer to that, had been updated regularly on Greg’s day, but he wanted to seem sympathetic.

“So much paperwork. And then that idiot that tried to kill me. Though men in very nice suits took them off our hands for us. Some of yours, I suppose?” Greg asked with a pointed glare.

Mycroft felt himself blush. He hadn’t had cause to interfere in Greg’s work before, but he supposed that he would more often now. If they were connected and people tried to hurt Greg to get to Mycroft, his people would be dealing with a lot more problems the police force found. Especially if Greg wouldn’t let Mycroft put a security detail on him. Speaking of that, Greg seemed to have followed a similar train of thought, because he was talking rather rapidly.

“—and I’m not a small child!” he finished.

“I apologize, my mind drifted,” Mycroft said, frowning. He rarely let himself get so distracted.

“I said, I don’t need your bloody security detail or for you to take care of people who try to kill me, and I’m not a small child!” Greg repeated angrily.

“The security isn’t because I want to treat you like a small child. There are more threats now that you’re connected to me, threats that you haven’t encountered before. Your team is not equipped to deal with political assassinations.”

“I’m not suggesting that we are. We simply catch murderers and make the streets safer.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Greg’s tone. He wasn’t pleased at the implication that he was condescending to Greg. “It simply isn’t your job, the way catching burglars isn’t. Not that you aren’t capable, you just don’t have the knowledge or experience to do it well.” 

“Don’t patronize me, Mycroft, I don’t have the patience for it today.”

Mycroft sighed. He hadn’t wanted to fight on their first full day at home, but he supposed that technically it wasn’t their first full day home, considering it was well past midnight. “Fine. Your team isn’t equipped and I wanted him sent somewhere where he would never see the light of day again. He came after you and that was simply unacceptable. I have resources that you don’t and can do things that you shouldn’t even know about. Now, it’s very late and I am going to sleep.”

He put his papers down, turned off the lamp he was using to read and lay down, closing his eyes. Greg went into the loo to shower and change without another word.

When Greg came back into the room and climbed into bed later, he lay on his side and faced Mycroft’s back. “I don’t know if you’re awake still, but I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken my bad day out on you. That isn’t fair. I know I ruined our first real day together and I’m disappointed about it. You did what was best. If you want to put a security detail on me, fine, just so long as they don’t stop me doing my job.” He sighed. “I guess you’re asleep. I’ll tell you all of this tomorrow. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Mycroft said back and scooted backwards until his back was pressed up against Greg’s front. Greg made a happy noise and wrapped his arm around Mycroft, holding him tight.


	4. Chapter 4

When Mycroft awoke, he was alone in bed. He was confused, because it was only three hours after they had fallen asleep and he was sure that Greg would need more sleep than that. As he stretched and sat up, Greg came into the room carrying a tray of food, humming a cheerful tune.

“What has you in such a pleasant mood?” Mycroft asked, picking a cup of tea up off the tray.

“I’m happy to spend some time with you. I’m beginning to think that it won’t happen very often, with our work schedules,” Greg explained.

“And what is the breakfast?”

“An apology for ruining yours yesterday. I should have stopped and taken the time to enjoy eating with you.”

“That is a very nice thought, but I understand that you had work that was more important.”

Greg put his hands on either side of Mycroft’s face, looking him straight in the eyes. “Work is not more important than you. More pressing, perhaps, sometimes, but not more important.”

Mycroft blushed and he didn’t even try to hide it. Greg liked to see him blush, so he was going to embrace his reddening cheeks, no matter how embarrassing it was. He could endure a small indignity to make Greg happy. “You are important to me as well.”

“Good. I notice you didn’t say more important than your work, but I suppose I understand if I don’t beat out the rest of the country.”

“You’re certainly my favorite person,” Mycroft said with a small smile, pleased that Greg was in a good mood.

“That’s hardly a feat. You don’t like people. You’re a Holmes.”

“If I dislike everyone and I like you, that is an amazing feat. Sherlock cares for you as well. You must be some amazing man if the Holmes brothers both like you so well.”

“How exactly do you like me?” Greg asked, setting the tray of food on a side table and leaning forward.

Mycroft kissed Greg slowly, letting Greg lower him down onto the bed. “I have to go to work,” Mycroft said halfheartedly.

“You have time for this, surely,” Greg told him, sliding Mycroft’s pajama bottoms off. “Breakfast wasn’t the only thing I prepared this morning.”

“What else…?” Mycroft asked, feeling his eyes go wide when Greg produced a bottle of lubricant out of thin air and his meaning became clear.

“I wanted you and I knew you would be pressed for time, so I took care of the tedious part.” He poured some lubricant into his hand and spent his time covering Mycroft’s not-quite-hard cock with it.

“It’s not tedious when I do it,” Mycroft said, pulling Greg’s face to him in a more passionate kiss, pressing in with his tongue, cock hardening as Greg responded enthusiastically. 

“Well, we’ll have to save that for a day when we have more time. For now, I need you to fuck me.”

Greg kicked his own bottoms off and climbed onto Mycroft, positioning Mycroft’s erection at his entrance.

“Are you sure you’ve prepared enough?” Mycroft asked, mentally applauding his restraint, as he was nearly shaking with need.

Greg smirked. “I brought my collection of toys with me the other day. I’m sure.”

“Oh good,” Mycroft said and thrust up into Greg, who let himself slam down to meet Mycroft, shouting in perfect agony. “Okay?” Mycroft asked, stilling temporarily.

“Oh god yes,” Greg growled. “Move, now.”

“Bossy,” Mycroft muttered with a grin, but started moving, thrusting upward as.

Mycroft tried to focus on Greg’s cries of “harder, faster” and thrust up to meet him as he bounced up and down, but he was soon too caught up in his own building orgasm to think about what he was doing. He moved on instinct, pausing momentarily to reposition them, Greg on all fours and Mycroft behind him, thrusting in as hard as he was able. He felt a tightening around him as Greg’s shouting became a stunned silence. Mycroft panted and grunted as he came, Greg murmuring encouragement as he pressed back to meet Mycroft on each thrust.

Mycroft fell onto the bed next to Greg as he caught his breath. Greg turned onto his side and smiled at Mycroft. “Good morning.”

“Very good morning,” Mycroft agreed. He leaned forward for a kiss. “I love you,” he breathed as they pulled apart. 

As soon as he said it, he tensed up. He wasn’t sure exactly what he thought Greg might do, but he didn’t want to risk any negative reactions, so he hadn’t planned on saying that first. They were married, but they hadn’t been in love before the marriage, so they had never expressed such sentiments to each other. In fact, Mycroft had never expressed such sentiments to anyone, preferring not to open himself up in that way.

“I love you, too,” Greg told him, reaching his hand out and touching Mycroft’s face. “That’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Oh, far from it,” Mycroft said, failing to stop himself from smiling at Greg’s words.

“Perfect for me, then.”

Mycroft buried his face in Greg’s chest, breathing in Greg’s comforting post-coital smell. He had noticed how much he liked Greg’s smell, but now that he was able to let it wash over him, he was happy to sit there and enjoy it.

“Are you smelling me?” Greg asked with a grin.

“Perhaps,” Mycroft said, not looking up. He knew that it was going to be a long day without time together and he didn’t want to waste a moment of physical contact.

“I don’t want to be apart either,” Greg said, putting his arm around Mycroft. “I like to hold you.”

“I like when you hold me,” Mycroft told him. After a moment, he sighed as he stood. “What time will you be home tonight?”

“Six?” Greg said with a shrug. “Hopefully.”

“Well, I will be here,” Mycroft said, giving him a kiss before getting ready for the day.

Later, as Mycroft sat in hour six of The Meeting That Would Never End, he sighed as he sent a text to Greg:

**Don’t wait up. Mycroft**

***

Finally, a weekend. Even Mycroft took half a day off at the end of the week. Saturday morning he and Greg would definitely spend some time together.

He awoke to a note on Greg’s pillow:

**Called out to a crime scene. Miss you. Greg**

The new case was very intense for a week, during which Mycroft only saw him three times. Then there was nearly-war with some country even Mycroft had never heard of before and Mycroft had to fly off to some godforsaken island for three days. By the time he made it back to London, and Greg, he was hoping to never leave home again.

“Do you fancy a holiday?” Greg asked on a rare night together, while he and Mycroft were reading in bed.

“No,” Mycroft said shortly, hoping that would be the end of it. He didn’t feel like explaining that he traveled far too much for work to want to travel for pleasure. Greg wouldn’t understand and then there’d be a fight. Mycroft didn’t have the emotional energy for a fight just then. He wanted to sit quietly in bed with his husband.

“Oh. I just thought it might be nice to spend some time together.” Greg sounded disappointed and Mycroft didn’t know how to fix something like that.

“We’re spending time together right now,” Mycroft said, turning a page in the work file he was reading.

“Spend real time together. We’re doing different things right now. We only see each other when we’re eating or having sex. Or sleeping, but that hardly counts.”

“Well, what would you like to do? I’m not going on a holiday.”

“Nothing, then. We’ll keep doing what we’re doing and never spend any time together,” Greg said bitterly, putting his book down and turning the lamp on his side of the bed off.

Mycroft sighed and turned his own light off, setting his file down and rolled onto his side so he was facing away from Greg. He didn’t want them to go to bed annoyed with each other, but he also didn’t want to deal with why they were arguing over something so silly. In his experience with previous relationships, little arguments like that could become blowouts very quickly and he had a busy day the next day, too busy to be up all night having a fight.

***

The next day, Mycroft was late getting home, as usual. He sent a few texts and even tried to call, but he received no response. Supposing that Greg was annoyed at him and just needed some time to cool off, Mycroft decided to leave him alone.

He was surprised to find that Greg wasn’t home. He expected him to be home when he arrived, but Mycroft’s security people told him that Greg was at his old flat. He had, of course, been spending time there, getting things packed and ready for his move.

Mycroft knew that the move was coming up, but he had forgotten the exact day. Greg still refused to hire movers and was planning to do it all himself, which seemed ridiculous to Mycroft.

When Mycroft woke up the next morning, he was alone, which was unusual, but not alarmingly so. What confused Mycroft was that the bag that Greg had been living out of while he packed up his flat was gone. Mycroft did a quick tour of the house and nothing of Greg’s was there. It was almost as if Greg had never been there.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Mycroft pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Greg.

No answer.

He called the head of Greg’s security detail, a man he was sure he could trust.

No answer.

Panicking, Mycroft called his head of security, the man who always knew where everyone was and Mycroft trusted more than anything.

No answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This changed from fluff to a fic about how marriage sucks sometimes to ... a slightly angsty cliffhanger? Okay, I guess I can work with that. :-) I'm hoping to get the conclusion of this up in a bit (I just have to write it first).
> 
> Enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter is short, but I think sufficiently sappy at the end.

Mycroft switched his brain into work mode. He sent a message to his driver to meet him outside and called his assistant, giving her some instructions. He had his driver take him to Greg’s office, where he found Sally Donovan, whom Greg trusted.

“Yes?” she asked, sounding as if she were only being polite because it was required of her.

“Have you seen Greg?”

“No, he’s moving today. Shouldn’t you be with him?”

Mycroft checked his phone: his assistant had found Greg’s flat empty of life. All of his possessions were there, carefully packed, including the things that had been at the house: Greg must have taken them back to aid him in his move. The flat was looked like some sort of fight happened there, including several puddles of cooling blood. They could estimate a time that the fight happened, but there was no way to prove when exactly Greg had been attacked. “Something is wrong,” he told Sally, carefully controlling his emotions so they didn’t bleed through to the surface. “Greg is missing. The security team that is on him is also missing. There is considerable blood at Greg’s flat.”

“I’ll get a forensics team there,” Sally said quickly.

“Very good. My people will assist.”

“Who exactly are your people?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

Mycroft sighed and sent a message on his phone. Sally’s phone rang and she answered it, staring at Mycroft as one of the higher ups yelled at her to do whatever Mycroft said and then hung up.

“Get your best forensics team over there.”

“Anderson will be there soon,” she said, typing rapidly on her phone.

“Anderson isn’t the best, he’s barely sentient,” Sherlock said, appearing at Mycroft’s elbow.

“Sherlock, I don’t have time for you unless you are going to be helpful,” Mycroft said, turning to look at him.

Sherlock’s eyes darted around Mycroft’s face, no doubt being able to clearly read every thought going through his mind, and then nodded. “John and I will be at Lestrade’s flat, looking for clues.”

“Go, then,” Mycroft told him with a nod.

“That was amazing!” Sally exclaimed. “I’ve never seen anyone handle the freak that way!”

“If you call him that in my presence again, you will spend the rest of your career as a crossing guard,” Mycroft said casually as he typed rapidly on his phone. “Now go do your job.”

She left without a word and Mycroft returned to his office, where he could keep a better eye on everything that was happening. He pulled his best people in from assignments all over the city and sent them out to figure out where Greg was. 

After hour one, he hadn’t heard anything. He felt conflicted, because it could be either good or bad news that they hadn’t heard.

After hour two, he still hadn’t heard anything. He started to pace his office, feeling completely useless.

After hour three, there was news. Bad news.

Mycroft stood outside in the cool night air, watching as Sherlock crouched over the lifeless body of the head of Greg’s security detail. Mycroft could see everything Sherlock could, but his emotional state would not allow him to make the connections that

Sherlock, in detective mode, would be able to make.

“Who is this?” he heard Sally ask behind him.

“Security bloke. Supposed to be watching the DI for the husband. Wonder if the DI knew he was being watched. Really makes you wonder about the marriage,” someone answered.

“How’s he handling it?” Mycroft knew that Sally was talking about him, probably assuming that Mycroft couldn’t hear her.

“Him? He’s fine. Doesn’t even look worried. Mad bloke just nods when you tell him something and gives the next order.”

“He’s probably a psychopath like his brother. I don’t know what Lestrade sees in him.”

Mycroft walked away, unable to listen to anything else. He was pleased with himself for not falling apart and being able to take control of the situation. He certainly didn’t need to hear his husband’s subordinates insulting him for being in control.

That’s what he was, in control.

He was in control.

In control.

Maybe if he kept saying it in his head, that would make it true.

***

Mycroft was pacing his office again. It had been nearly a day since he had realized Greg was gone, no one knew exactly how long it had been since he had been abducted.

Mycroft’s phone chimed and he looked at it to see a text from Sherlock, an address.

Mycroft couldn’t remember getting into the car, but he somehow found himself being driven to the address Sherlock had sent him.

Mycroft was walking up to a crime scene. The lights were very bright and the whole thing seemed awfully chaotic and loud.

Mycroft saw the lifeless body of his head of security, being examined by a forensics team.

Mycroft saw Greg, very dirty and covered in blood, sitting on a stretcher, talking to Sally Donovan and Sherlock.

Mycroft fell to his knees and everything went black.

***

“Mycroft, love,” Greg’s soft voice was saying.

Mycroft’s eyes fluttered open to see Greg leaning over him. “Greg,” he said quietly, reaching for him.

“I’m here, love. I’m okay.”

“What happened?” Mycroft asked, sitting up.

“Don’t do that!” Greg said, steadying him as Mycroft swayed, clutching his head. “You probably hit your head, you need to stay still.”

“I can’t. What happened?” Mycroft asked, his eyes raking over Greg, cataloging all of his injuries. “Why did they torture you?”

Greg sighed. “We can discuss this later.” He braced for a fight.

“Quite right,” Mycroft agreed, reaching out and taking Greg’s hand.

“What?”

“We don’t need to talk about that right now. There are more important things.”

“More important things?”

Mycroft kissed Greg. “Like that.” 

Greg smiled, putting his hands on either side of Mycroft’s face and kissing him, taking his time.

A throat cleared beside them. When neither of them looked up, it cleared again.

“Oh, leave them, Donovan,” Sherlock’s voice said. “Clearly they’re disgustingly in love.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be a one shot, but I decided that it needs more chapters, so there will be more of this (and the rating will probably change in later chapters). :-)


End file.
